“Void take you, Lark Sutter.” Milena strode away, her back to Lark a reminder that things would never be the same between them. A hollow sadness, dry and cold, formed in her chest, threatening to suck away every ounce of joy she’d ever known. A friendship that had shaped Lark’s every memory was dead, and there was nothing she could do to revive it. Before, she’d held out a glimmer of hope that Milena would understand, that she’d forgive her, and they could move past it. It proved to be a fool’s hope in the end. A tear trickled down her cheek as she watched Milena turn a corner out of sight.
Leif’s arm stretched around her shoulders. He must have grown an inch while she’d been gone.
“She hasn’t been the same since …”
Lark wiped her face and met her brother’s gaze.
“We know you did all you could. Gramma said, even with the antibiotics, few recover from a mutant bite. We all loved Tommy, but it wasn’t your fault.Come on. I’ve got that pillow. What’s military life done to you—turn you into a softy?”
A chuckle sneaked past Lark’s pain. “You try sitting down after you’ve been shot in the ass.”
Gramma organized a community potluck that evening to feed the visiting troops. Rowena and Hank Hayes brought the bread, Leif and Lark provided pheasant and duck, while most residents of the village showed up with a dish to share. Jokes and pleasant conversation abounded as patriotic marshlanders fought over who would house a Marine overnight. After informing the group that Skye would stay at her house, Lark retired early, the events of the day having exhausted her physically and emotionally.
It wasn’t long before Gramma shuffled into her candle-lit room. Lark had the window above her bed open, and a mosquito net lay over her. The night air was stifling in the steel compartment, but the familiar bed provided comfort.
“Those were quite some adventures you’ve been on,” Gramma said. Lark glanced up at her kind, wrinkled face, her gray hair wound into a bun, the light cotton fabric of her blouse.
At least she doesn’t hate me. That, I couldn’t abide.Then again, Gramma was much older than Milena and had endured so many tragedies that she’d grown understanding and cultivated forgiveness.
“Now, tell me about this Azaleen Frost.” She settled into the chair near Lark’s bed, a playful smile curving her lips. “I get the feeling she’s more than merely a queen to you.”
“Gramma!” Lark laughed and shook her head, but thinking about Azaleen always brightened her mood.
“I know you,” she said. “Queen or not, I must judge for myself if she’s good enough for my girl.”
“You’re incorrigible.” Lark rolled toward her and propped on an elbow. “She’s worthy—I assure you—though I’m not sure what the future will bring. You know she’s older, which is good. She’s dealt with loss and is still a loving mother and daughter. She’s smart and decisive, and, although she seems stiff and cold, she really cares about our people.”
“And you?”
Lark smiled, warmth seeping back into her soul. “She cares about me too.”
“I’m happy for you, Lark,” Gramma said in a reserved tone, “if you go into this with your eyes open. I see no way forward for the queen of our nation and an army private to have a future together. One day at a time with no expectations for tomorrow is the way to navigate this. As long as you understand she’ll always put Verdancia first—”
“I know,” said Lark. “I would expect nothing less of her. But about you. Have Leif and Bryn been taking care of you? Dad says to tell you hi, and he loves you, by the way.”
“Yes, well, I worry about him the most, out there at Marchland on the border. They’ll be the Republic’s prime target—you mark my words.”
“Oh, Gramma, you should see the fortress on the bluffs,” Lark said without thinking. “Picture it: high above the wide river, walls of stone and iron, cannons commanding the position, a garrison twelve thousand strong. They can repel attacks from forces four times their number with ease. And Dad’s no slouch. He knows how to handle himself.”
Even as she chose her words to reassure her grandmother, concern for her father and the citadel churned in her gut. She remembered hearing about the size of the Iron Army and agreed that Marchland would be their prime target. The Republic couldn’t conquer Verdancia without first taking Marchland.
“If you say so.” Gramma relaxed. “I tended to that young foreigner you brought in while you and Leif were out hunting. Nasty bites, and he might lose half of that arm, but at least it was a gator, not a warg, that got to him. I sanitized his wounds with the strong stuff, applied a poultice, and bandaged him up. Best leave him here if you want him alive. It’ll be weeks before he can travel.”
“Thank you, Gramma. He’s just a common sailor, and none of this is his fault. Those Republic guys didn’t even know what an alligator was. Might lose his arm? Poor fella.”
Gramma shifted in her seat. “Well, not much’s changed here while you were gone. Talon Jones added two more foals to his herd. One of Gillian’s cows took sick and died. Bryn has pestered me more than you ever did. Sho’ ‘nough, I wish you were here to entertain her some days.” She laughed. “But I feel a little safer knowin’ you’re on the job out there. Shot three times? Saints alive.” Gramma shook her head. “I thought you were faster than that.”
“I was fast, Gramma,” Lark said. “That’s why the bullets hit me instead of Azaleen. Thankfully, AlgonCree has modern hospitals. I’ll be fine.” Settling back onto her pillow, she added, “Just need a little more taking it easy, and I’ll be good as new.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“You raised me right, Gramma. I know I failed Tommy and Milena, but I hope I don’t fail you. I’ve learned my lesson and won’t make promises except that I’ll do my best.”
“Milena’s in a state right now—nothin’ any of us can do for her. Your best is always good enough for me.” Ease fell over Lark at her grandmother’s words. Her eyelids grew heavy.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, where do you want me?” Skye asked as she entered the cozy room.